Cocaine, Nicotine, and Straight Vodka
by ilurandir
Summary: Tom considers his relationship with Baz, and just how deep it really does go.
1. Chapter 1

Barry had never quite gotten it, Tom thought.

When they were little, and Barry didn't want to go to one of the hospital visits that had been placed sporadically through their lives from the time they were just babies to when they were about five, Barry would tell Robbie that "Tommy didn't want to go." And while it was true, and Tom hated the glaring lights that hung overhead and washed out the faces of the tired nurses and doctors, he had never minded it as much as Barry had.

His heart. Tom remembered all that talk about Baz's heart. He remembered that they had to press the cold circle of the stethoscope to Barry's chest for much longer than Tom's. He remembered the way Barry's eyes looked when the doctor's shone the lights in them, the way he would shut down, do what he was told, and stare blankly ahead of him as they pressed the wood down on his tongue. How the doctors had to take the vials of blood out of the crook of his brother's arm, even though Barry's blood was Tom's.

Barry hated the doctors. He always had. So now, sitting in the tiny office that was not meant for the easy navigation of conjoined twins, getting "checked out" on Mr Zak Bedderwick's orders, Barry turned his face into Tom's neck as he always had when those gloved hands shot the clear liquid from the syringe into the cold light of the room.

Tom stared the doctor down, but the man didn't look even look at him. When they were little Tom and Barry were never cooed over like the other kids. Sometimes mother's or nurses would exclaim over the lovely twin boys until they got close enough to see the way their shirts rode up over the join that held them together. They would get quiet and, if they could, retreat to deal with their shock. Tom wondered, now, how that had made Robbie feel. What had she done when those women hurried away?

Tom leaned his head ever so slightly towards Barry's. The edge of his brother's nose pressed against Tom's jaw line and only he heard the soft, slightly shaky breath, feeling it ghost under his chin. Barry's arm looped around his back pressed hard into his spine.

Nick dished out the cocaine and Tom could feel Barry practically vibrating with anticipation beside him. It was too hot. Their arms slid over each other's torsos and when Barry raised his arm over Tom's head to hold the tray and the straw, Tom looked away because Barry's eyes flickered up to meet Paul's and he held them for a moment before he lowered his head and snorted the drug.

Tom's eyes took the bassist in. Paul was still watching his brother, and Tom shifted without meaning to. The tray slipped. "Fuckin', watch it!" Barry snarled at him, sliding his middle finger into his mouth, covered in the powder as he glared at him. Tom looked away. He caught his breath.

Barry paged through the lyrics, his brow furrowed. When Tom reached up to help, Barry pulled the notebook away without looking at him.

Paul's hand slid up Barry's back, resting just at the top of his spine. He leaned over his chest against Barry's shoulder and flipped the pages, pointing things out, talking lowly.

"I think this would sound better... here."

The way Barry avoided Paul's eyes wasn't like the way he avoided Tom's. It was shy, and he smiled when Paul did.

Tom found himself thinking that he didn't really like this song.

Tom reached over and turned Barry's face toward him. The steam from the bath rose around them and curled the ends of their hair. The bruise forming over Barry's eye was the first one in months. He gently wiped at the blood with a cloth. Barry wasn't looking at him. His arm was loose around Tom's waist, and his other hand dangled limply against the cool side of the tub, palm up.

Wind whistled through the house and they could hear the window in their room bang shut several times in the storm. It had never closed properly.

A noise outside the door and Barry jumped, hissing through his teeth as the cloth Tom held pressed too hard against the bruise. They both looked towards the door, but it wasn't Eddie with that bloody camera, as they had expected. Just the house creaking. When the boys turned away, they did it at the same time. Barry tilted his head away so they didn't bump noses, and their lips brushed. Tom didn't expect his chest to tighten the way it did.

Barry just shook his head a little and his tongue shot out over his bottom lip like it was inconsequential. Like an itch. Something he didn't have to think about, just wanted to get rid of. Tom swallowed and raised the cloth again.

"Has it stopped bleeding yet?" Barry asked.

Tom hadn't bothered to check. His thumb slipped over Barry's jaw as he adjusted his palm carefully against his brother's cheek.

"Not yet."

When Paul came into the recording room the next morning he sighed when he saw Barry sitting with Tom on the sofa, but he didn't say anything. The bruise was dark, and had spread through the night. Tom was glad when Baz leaned close to him and rested his head on his shoulder. He hadn't said a word to Paul.

"M'head hurts," he mumbled. Tom smoothed his brother's hair once, and avoided the bassist's eyes, afraid he might grin at him.

_Barry's always going to be closer to me._ He thought. _Whether you like it or not._

No... Barry had never understood... he still didn't, and Tom played along. "Tom does one," his fingers splayed a little over his brother's chest, "Barry does one," he touched his own. "Goes in a circle doesn't it Barry?" Barry's eyes had lit up with laughter in the red, smoky lighting of the basement. For a moment Tom didn't hear the din around them, the clinking of beer bottles, the chatter, the sound of their voices bellowing out songs through the speakers because Barry moved closer, his knuckles brushing Tom's skin. "Why d'you think that is?" Barry laughed, not quite focusing on him. He was drunk. "Tom?" he said after a breath.

"Eats itself, doesn't it, Barry?" Tom said, smiling at him.

"Tom does one..." Tom watched Barry slip a tiny pill into his mouth. "One..." Tom said. It looked impossibly white against Barry's tongue before it disappeared into his mouth. "Barry does one..." Tom's stomach fluttered – the thought of his brothers' fingers against his lips...

Laura's hand came down and slapped Barry's, hard, sending the little pill flying. "No!"

He could feel Barry's pulse quicken, making his own heart jump a little, working harder to keep time with Barry's own – so it wasn't flooded with blood. "Barry _does_ one!" Baz was saying. "Bang!" His finger connected hard with Tom's temple, and he let it happen, because he always did. "Bang!" and Barry pushed hard enough to force Tom's face away.

Perhaps it was because Barry's adrenaline was up, because he was mad at Laura that made Tom tense up, even when Laura lay her head on his chest, smiling sweetly at him. Or maybe it was because Paul collapsed onto the mattress beside them.

Laura kissed him, and for a moment, he forgot everything, until Barry's heart did something – skipped maybe. He could feel his blood jump under his skin, and when he looked over, Paul's mouth was over Barry's, and Barry was pressing up into that touch, closer and closer, straining to pull away from Tom and closer to Paul. His hand was on Paul's face.

Laura touched Tom's hand, and for a moment he didn't even notice. Baz didn't look at him when Paul pulled away. The slightest of glances showed Tom the way that Barry stared at Paul as Paul pulled back.

Laura swung his hand back and forth, and he looked away from his twin. He knew that Barry could tell that his wasn't the only heart racing.

"C'mon," Barry whispered to him, shifting closer in their bed, his hand slipping down between them, fingers brushing the join as he lifted his hips a little and undid the belt on his jeans, which were too big for him. Tom pretended to still be half asleep. "Tommy... Tom." Barry said softly, in the dark, as he squirmed out of his trousers, one of his bare legs heavy over both of Tom's – still clad in the thick material. Barry's voice was getting impatient. "Tommy."

Tom sighed, rolling onto his side so that they faced each other. No... Barry had never really understood. He swallowed and closed his hand on the pillowcase as Barry's fingers came down and undid Tom's jeans. Barry had never understood that they were different people, because for Barry, when Tom's hand came down and trailed up the inside of his thigh, it was just like wanking, but better, because he didn't always know the next move.

Tom curled his fingers around his brother as Barry shifted still closer – his desperation for a physical proximity suffocated Tom sometimes, but in the end, he needed it too. Barry's fingers tightened on Tom's thigh, kneading and scratching the flesh as he made soft noises against Tom's skin. They never did this at the same time, because that would be too much like sex; but when Barry was done, he would bring Tom off.

Tom ran his hand down Laura's dark hair as he kissed her. Barry was smoking quietly beside them. Tom loved Laura. Barry loved her too... and Tom knew that she had to leave Humbleden tonight to go take care of some of her writing business that she never really put into detail... he knew that this, right now, with Laura: the little noise she made into his mouth when he pulled her, one armed, against him, would make Baz whisper his name that night in their room because they would both need a good wank.

He convinced himself he wasn't using her.

He wasn't... because he loved her.

He was though.

Barry had never gotten it...

Tom had kissed him, once, when they were younger on the Head. Barry had kissed him back, but it hadn't meant anything. Then there was the photoshoot, but that had been all in fun.

Now, Tom's chest rose and fell heavily. Barry was watching him unabashedly, knowing it was his turn next, and he didn't look away when Tom looked up and met his eyes. Tom's hips pushed into Barry's hand and his lips parted in a high whimper as he pushed a louder sound back.

He brought his hand up to the back of his brother's head, his hand in that chaos of curls, and Barry didn't object when their mouths met, and their tongues slid together.

When Tom bit back a name as he came, it wasn't Laura's. She didn't taste bitter like cocaine, nicotine and straight vodka.

Barry swallowed the sound. If he had heard the beginnings of his twin's dark secret, he didn't say anything; he just accepted it.

Because Barry and Tom... They couldn't afford to have secrets. Not from each other.


	2. Blackberries

The sun was hot. It beat down on his back and he pushed his hair away from his blue eyes which felt dry and sleepy from too much sunlight. His hair was damp with sweat, and it pooled in the waistline of his jeans which had been cut off at the knee for the summer. Barry was dressed much like him. Faded jeans and bare chest. Their skin was tanned dark because the summer's heat was brutal, and there was virtually no shade on the Head. It was far too hot to stay indoors. They'd been sent out that morning to pick blackberries so Rob could cook something, but most of them found their way into the boy's mouths than into the old basket they were supposed to be collecting them in.

They reached the large rock that stuck out of the beach sand. The side shielded from the sun was cool enough to their sweating bodies to seem almost damp, and they leaned against it thankfully. Tom could feel Barry's blood pulsing through his brother's wrist, which was over his hip, and he tried to match it with his own. Their hearts sometimes beat in unison, usually when they had been sleeping or were being quiet, but rarely in the daytime when they were moving about. Barry's heart was always a bit faster than his, which the doctors made a big deal about when they were babies, but neither of the boys found that it hindered them any. They'd never really trusted the doctors anyway.

They'd just turned fifteen and they were at odd angles and were growing quickly. They would be taller than Robbie soon.

"Do you think Rob's going to go away?" Barry asked, and it didn't surprise Tom that they were both thinking about their sister at the same time.

"Why would she?"

"It's just... what if she..." Barry was picking the sea-plants off the side of the rock, and Tom watched him, noting how dirty his fingernails were. "What if Bert wants to... you know... take her away?"

"To the mainland?" Tom asked.

"Yeah... yes."

"I don't think she'd go." Tom assured his brother.

Barry turned and pressed his face into Tom's shoulder and heaved a heavy sigh. "You don't know. Don't know."

"Barry..." Tom reached down and tilted Barry's face up, but Barry would not look at him.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, don't." Barry lifted his head and turned his face away, freeing himself from Tom's hands. He looked out across the water, his eyes hazed, not really seeing. He was inside his head again. Tom felt that familiar breathlessness, that anxiety that overcame him whenever Barry did this. When they were younger, it used to make him cry, but they'd never been able to really explain it to Robbie. Dad wouldn't stand for it, so he was never told.

"Barry... want to go back? Barry? We should go-"

"No."

There was a sharpness in his voice that startled Tom, so Tom quieted and looked away. His eyes flickered from the water that Barry was staring over, to his twin, and back again. There was a long moment of silence between them that the world didn't seem to understand. The waves crashed over the rocks and sea-birds called over their heads. Barry finally emitted a low sound – the start of a word that was never finished. He took a breath and started again.

"I can't, I can't stop... this. It... or... He's..." Tom watched Barry struggle, and when Barry looked directly at him, Tom knew that the conversation was no longer about 'him' but about them. Tom and Barry. "Sorry."

Tom shook his head and stepped forward, moving to take his brother's shoulders, but he found his hands on his brother's face instead. "Don't apologize,"

"But-"

"No!"

Barry swallowed, moving several times to look away, but finding himself unable to. Tom's eyes were burning into his with something he didn't understand. Something he wasn't supposed to.

"Tommy," Barry began.

"It's not _you_."

Barry felt his insides twist, and he took a steadying breath. Tom leaned close, stopping once, before almost closing what little distance there was between them.

"What?" Barry asked, but Tom let out a short, "Shh," before he touched his lips to Barry's. Barry's brow furrowed, but he didn't pull away. Instead he tilted his head a little, feeling Tom's shoulder jolt under his hand as though to jerk back, but he didn't, and suddenly, it wasn't just a brush of lips but something more. Tom's brought his free arm up around Barry's back and slid his hands down his brother's slick skin, and Barry echoed the movement only a second later. Tom sighed slightly and suddenly Barry's tongue touched the corner of his mouth, awkwardly. He pulled away for a second, and when they came together again, the touch was deeper, more intimate, but still entirely experimental. His brother tasted like the berries they'd eaten that morning, and faintly of dust or sand that had blown up on the wind and stuck to the dampness of their skin, and something Tom couldn't, and never would quite be able to place. Something that reminded him of dark, green places, so unlike the Head that Tom wondered where it could possibly have come from.

That was the first time.


End file.
